


Fox

by Aansero



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Asphyxiation, Crueltide, Dehumanization, Gang Rape, M/M, Sexual Violence, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 11:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5495942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aansero/pseuds/Aansero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Csevet is caught in Eshoravee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fox

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilpocketninja](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilpocketninja/gifts).



> With [Brigdh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Brigdh) as our beta – all our thanks!

The door was to a servants' stair, but it was locked. Csevet yanked at the doorknob with both hands, then shoved at it, throwing his whole body into the motion, again and again. Somehow, deep down, he knew if only he could get in–

'Open!' His voice cracked. The door did not open. 'Salzheio, _please._ '

Footsteps around the corner, running towards him, whoops and laughter. Csevet rattled the door one last, useless time and swore in nonsensical fragments. He'd spent too long trying to get in, he knew, even as he turned and started to run again. Breath rasped in his throat. He felt sick.

They caught him soon after, as he tripped and skinned his knees in a dark, wet hallway, blood indistinguishable from mud on his white skin. Hands grabbed his arms and hair, pulling him up and dragged him when he failed to get his feet underneath himself.

Csevet struggled, closing his eyes as he cursed and spat, but he couldn't block out the jeers, as loud as screaming, and couldn't stop the men as they hauled him back into the heart of Eshoravee and threw him against a wall in the dog-fighting courtyard. His head pounded, chest heaving. Every muscle seemed to scream in fear.

'We caught the fox!' one man shouted. Csevet curled up, arms over his head, eyes closed, ears pinned flat and knees pressed to his chest, and another man kicked him in the back.

'Why's the fox wearing clothes,' a third man said loudly, laughing out the words. 'Fox! Thou'rt dressed all wrong! Let us help thee.'

Hands uncurled him forcefully and Csevet lashed out with his fists and feet, until a sharp pain at his chest caused his eyes to snap open and see the long knife slicing through his clothes. The tip poked into his skin. Csevet froze, holding still save for his heaving chest, even as his clothes were shorn away piece by piece: jacket and shirt, belt, trousers and drawers, stockings and shoes. Watching, he couldn't think, as if his thoughts were ink on wet paper, washed away. Hot blood trickled down his chest. The floor was icy cold against his bare feet. Horror made his throat seize up.

Then: Tethimar, grasping his neck, spinning him around and pushing him face-first into the wall. Csevet hit it hard enough to drive the air from his lungs, knock his head. His vision flashed white. He scrabbled at Tethimar's hand around his throat and Tethimar jerked him back, then slammed him again into the wall. Csevet cried out, a wordless, animal noise.

His own breath rushed in his ears like a high wind, rough and sawing. Over it ran the laughter of the men at the spectacle before them, hot and heady with anticipation.

'Our little fox,' Tethimar said, close to Csevet's ear, which flicked away. Tethimar's left hand loosened its grip on his throat but did not release it fully; Tethimar's right hand stroked Csevet's back, running down to his waist, then kneaded his arse. 'Tell us, art thou virgin?'

'Please, don't,' Csevet gasped wetly, entirely unable to control the words coming from his mouth. He could feel blood from a scrape on his forehead creep into his left eye. His hands were being tied together behind his back. He couldn't think. Terror had gripped him, gutted him.

Tethimar spun them both around so that they faced the men surrounding them. Then the hand around Csevet's throat yanked him up, making him stand on the balls of his feet, and the other, curled into a fist, struck him in the soft flesh of his side, between ribcage and hip.

'Answer the question!' Tethimar said, as Csevet gasped and struggled uselessly. 'Art thou virgin?'

'No!' Csevet said, his ears flat and eyes squeezed closed. He could feel the men's eyes on his body, stripped naked, laid out and fully exposed.

'How many have fucked thee?' Tethimar asked, as his hand slid back down Csevet's body. 'Just the one?'

'No,' Csevet said, the word pulled out from him like a hooked fish. He could feel burning behind his eyelids as he started to cry. Tethimar's fingers had found his arsehole; one forced itself inside, rough and dry.

'Two, then? Three?' A slight pause, for dramatic effect. 'Four?'

'No,' Csevet said, yanking at his hands and ignoring how the rope around his wrists bit into his skin. His legs jerked as another finger pushed its way inside, stretching him, bringing with it a sharp, stabbing pain.

'More than four, and so young!' Tethimar said in mock surprise, a grin clear in his voice. 'How many?'

'I don't – I can't remember–' Csevet gasped; he understood, somewhere below the panic, that this was the wrong thing to say, but he could not grasp the correct answer. 'Please–'

'Hear that, boys? He can't remember!' Uproarious laughter. The fingers curled and yanked upwards and back, forcing Csevet to stand on tip-toe, spine arched downwards, arse up, legs pressed to Tethimar's legs. 'Our young, pretty fox is a whore, all right!' More laughter.

Tethimar shifted abruptly – he removed his fingers from inside Csevet and moved forwards to curl his arm tightly around Csevet's waist. The hand at Csevet's throat disappeared and, without it, Csevet's upper body dropped down, bowing to the onlookers.

Something wet between his legs – oil and rough fingers, then something larger, hot, solid.

'No!' Csevet kicked backwards, twisting his whole body, and Tethimar punched him in the lower back. Pain shot through his spine and made him cry out: a short, sharp scream. Another punch in the same place, stunning him.

He heard, as if from a great distance, someone laugh. 'Listen to it yelp,' they said as Tethimar pressed the head of his cock into Csevet, then pushed, very slowly, to force himself fully inside.

Pain, like something sharp cutting its way inside of him. Csevet's head spun, stomach cramping. Breaths turned into sobs, unsteady, short and wet. He retched, then moaned as Tethimar withdrew, only to thrust back in with a quick, harsh jab. Pain made his legs weak, threatening to collapse at any second. As Tethimar's thrusts found a rhythm Csevet folded over, hiding his face in his shoulder.

After a few moments Tethimar reached out, wound his fingers through Csevet's hair and yanked his head up. A shaft of pain shot through Csevet's neck, into his skull, ringing in his ears. Men whooped and laughed, crowding around them. Csevet wriggled, trying to turn his head and hide the ugly tears, the snot running down into his open mouth. Tethimar held him tightly in place, his fingers like iron.

Time drew out into one long moment. Shame, fear, sharp, bright agony. Thrusting.

The feeling of violation, wrong.

Tethimar let go of his hair and moved his hands to Csevet's hips, holding them tightly, digging his fingers in. The thrusts became faster, withdrawing barely halfway before driving back inside. Csevet bit his lower lip, dug his teeth in hard, and tried to focus on the friction of Tethimar's clothes on the back of his legs. He pulled at the rope tying his hands together. Sweat made his fingers sticky. Standing on tip-toe his whole body jerked back and forth like a rag doll.

Pain and violent motion and wrong, wrong, wrong.

The tempo changed a third time – slower, full thrusts, Tethimar shifting his weight, clenching his hands. One last thrust, pulling Csevet flush against him, and staying there.

Csevet dropped to the floor, knees buckling as Tethimar let go. With his hands behind his back he landed on his face; the cold, wet stone scraped the skin from his forehead. His body trembled, rocking with the force of his gasps. He ground his head into the floor, trying to let the pain there drive away the pain rattling around the rest of his body.

'A good fuck,' he heard Tethimar say above him, breathing hard. A laugh. 'Tight, and wriggling just enough to keep things interesting.'

Jeers. More laughter. 'Well, boys,' Tethimar said. 'He's all yours.'

Hands grabbed Csevet before he could even think to move, hauling him up by his arms, dragging him forward. A hand groping his arse, fingers attempting to worm their way inside. Hands holding his legs, hard enough to bruise, stopping him from kicking. A hand on his scalp, pulling his hair. On his neck, choking him.

They slammed him face-down onto a table, sticky and reeking of beer and rotting meat. His hips fell on one edge, his chin hit the other, and his teeth snapped shut on the tip of his tongue. Blood swelled in his mouth, getting down his throat – he coughed, spat a glob of phlegm and blood onto the floor, spluttered and choked. His hands were being untied, only to be forced down, bound to the table legs at either side of his head. He cried out as he struggled – pleas, half-screams, meaningless sounds – until one of the men slipped a choke collar around his neck.

The choke collar pulled back, forcing his head up, and tightened around his throat. His feet scrabbled at the floor below the table. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. He yanked at his hands and couldn't feel his fingers. Black spots, blurry around the edges of his vision. High-pitched ringing in his ears.

Pain registered, even as he was half unconscious. Someone between his legs, forcing their cock into him. Rapid thrusts. The collar loosened and desperate breaths rattled in his throat as his head fell back to the table.

A hand on his face, turning his head to one side, fingers tightening in his hair. Csevet closed his mouth, breath whistling through his nose, not enough. Something solid, hot and wet bumping into his lips. His ear, twisted, hard. Pain, too much–

Csevet opened his mouth and gagged on the cock that was forced down his throat. He instinctively opened his mouth wider, attempting to jerk back, but was stopped by the hand at the back of his head, which pushed him forward, the cock deeper. Pubic hair scratched at his face.

In and out, bruising his throat, making him gag and choke and suffocate. The taste of sweat and piss and precome mixed with the blood still dripping from his tongue.

A little after the third man came down his throat, Csevet thought distantly that he could not hurt more if they had poured oil on him and set him alight.

When the fifth man had to stop to coat his cock in grease because the blood in Csevet's arse was too sticky for comfort, Csevet passed out.

He woke a few minutes later when they dumped a bucket of icy water on him.

The next man fucking his mouth pulled out before orgasm and came on Csevet's bright red tongue, across his lips and nose. He wiped the head of his softening cock across Csevet's cheeks and pressed it against his tightly closed eyes.

Csevet's hands were untied, shoulders burning in slow agony as he cradled his arms to himself. He was picked up, his back leaning against the man's chest, the man's arms under his thighs, holding him up, spreading his legs. Csevet arched his back, trying to push away, but a sharp pain in his ear – the man was biting the tip of his ear, holding it between his teeth. The collar tightened again.

Some fumbling before he was impaled, but once done the man's hips snapped back and forth, rapid, relentless; Csevet choked and didn't have the breath to scream.

A presence in front of him made Csevet's eyes open – a man stood in front of him, too close, and Csevet lashed out, hitting him across the face with a loose backhand. Csevet realised his mistake the second before the fist hit his stomach, and he curled into it, retching. His ear tore from the teeth holding it, wrenching the muscle at its base. He shut his eyes tight.

'Not tame yet, fox?'

The fist retreated. A second punch, then a third.

'Art pretty loose – opening up nicely for us all. We think thou wantest another dick, yes?'

The thrusting slowed, then stopped, the cock still deep inside of him. A hand fell between Csevet's legs, and Csevet flinched with his whole body as two fingers were forced inside of him.

'Fuck!' the man behind him said, with a huff of laughter. 'Clenched down hard, did you feel it? Our whore must love this.'

'Foxes do,' the man in front said, and pressing in close he pulled Csevet's knees up higher and forced his cock in as well.

They moved slower than before, but Csevet felt as if they were tearing him open, and when they withdrew his insides would surely spill out; the man in front pinched his nipples and Csevet jerked, gasping. The man behind leant his head forward and kissed Csevet's neck, wet, open kisses, and bit the flesh there afterwards hard enough to draw blood.

When they were finished they dropped him to the floor. Csevet fell unconscious as he lay there, and a second bucket of water did not wake him.

 

* * * * *

 

Six days later Csevet opened his eyes to a touch on his shoulder. A candle burnt in front of his face, piercingly bright; he closed his eyes and remained as still as possible. The candle retreated.

'Salzheio,' a voice said, then swore, trembling. 'Csevet, goddesses – what did they do to thee?'

The hand left his shoulder, then returned to touch, feather-light, the base of his ear, his jawline, the swollen knuckles of his hand.

'Fuck,' the voice said. It sounded dangerously close to tears. 'Fuck.'

Csevet moaned as he was rolled over, pain searing through his whole body. The voice whispered in his ear: 'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Csevet, but we need to get out right now.'

Hands pushed him into sitting upright, and the agony made him retch. He opened his eyes. Dark skin, a familiar face. Red ribbons. Without warning Csevet started to cry.

He managed to crawl into standing, leaning heavily against the figure leading him, mindlessly following his instructions. Pain. His skin burnt. He retched again, but had nothing in his stomach to throw up. The servants who had found him had managed to give him some water, but nothing else.

'Csevet, this way,' the voice said, and pulled them into a shambling walk. A hiccup of a laugh beside him. 'Wouldst not believe how much I had to bribe the servants to cooperate. When thou'rt better, wilt be so angry with me.'

The shadows looked alive and Csevet flinched from them. He could tell that he was speaking but could not understand his own voice.

'Here,' the voice said, interrupting him. 'We're almost out. Hold on, please, just needest to hold on–'

Wind, freezing cold on Csevet's sweat-soaked skin. Rain. 'Come on, keep walking,' the voice said. 'It will be all right, I swear. Thou'lt be all right.'

Csevet didn't believe it, the words jumbling up in his head, but he forced himself to walk anyway.


End file.
